Fire and Flame

by Anya Breton

  By the lightening of the room around them, she gathered the sun would soon rise. They’d only slept five hours thanks to the late start they’d had. Brent had followed yet another false lead to the witches that had attacked him days ago. There’d been no sign of the Escalade that had been parked down the street or of the black pickup truck. It was almost as if the Ena brood had given up.

  Sara hadn’t dared to ask Brent why he didn’t simply assume they had. She knew why. Fintan had always said never to underestimate the foe. Believing they had given up would be a very large underestimation.

  Brent grazed his fingernail over her right nipple while she pondered her worries. Sara inhaled sharply as every nerve in her body woke. Soon his other hand massaged over her rear in motions that sent heated shivers up her back. He worked it over and then down between her cheeks, teasing the flower there before pushing onward toward her already quivering core. Without warning, Brent rolled her over so he could hop atop her and…

  He fell off the bed.

  Sara burst into laughter at the exasperated expression of his lowered brows and twisted lips. He looked boyish to her scowling there on the floor beside her bed. Had he not been completely nude, she might have thought he belonged there all these years.

  “We need a bigger bed,” he declared.

  Sara’s mirth promptly fled.

  We needing a bed implied they would be sleeping together for longer than the remaining four to five days it would take to impregnate her.

  “What?” he asked when he caught sight of her strained expression.

  She shook her head in the hope of him dropping the subject.

  “Sara—”

  She grabbed hold of his arm, tugging him back onto the mattress. But he was having none of it.

  Though he returned to bed it was only to sit on the edge and gaze down at her. “What’s wrong with a bigger bed, Sara?”

  She rolled her head away from his probing gaze. He caught her chin, forcing her attention back. Brent scanned her face. A long sigh escaped his mouth.

  “You still think you’re going to go to New York.”

  Sara didn’t argue with the low, incredulous tone of his.

  “You won’t be happy there.” Brent sounded assured of his opinion.

  “It’s what’s best,” she replied rather than refute him.

  “Bullshit, Sara.” He lowered himself until his face was inches from hers. “What is best is that you marry me.”

  Sara choked on her next intake of air. “Marry you? You haven’t even asked me!”

  He lifted himself upright, determination filling his features with hard lines. And then he spoke words she wouldn’t have expected to hear out of any witch’s mouth. “Marry me, Sara McKenna.”

  The tight set of his jaw didn’t look particularly romantic. But he was absolutely serious. He continued with his insanity in a hardened tone. “Marry me and I’ll buy you a ring worthy of a princess. I’ll build you a bed fit for a king. And I’ll spend my life treating you like royalty.”

  His wording struck a chord. Was she using Brent to fill the hole Fintan’s death had left in her heart?

  And how could she marry Brenton Conley? He didn’t even love her! She’d always promised herself she’d marry for love.

  The gleam in his eyes faded the longer she made him wait. “We would be so unhappy,” she whispered.

  “Why?” he demanded at a lifted volume that sharply contrasted hers.

  “I’d always resent you for keeping me from my dream.”

  “What is your dream, Sara?”

  “I want to become a news anchor on national television.”

  “No,” he argued with a fierce tone. “You want people to love and adore you and that’s just the method you’ve picked to accomplish your goal.” Sara opened her mouth to argue. His emphatic declaration cut her off, “But I love and adore you.”

  Her jaw hung open in astonishment. The passionate set of his finely slivered eyes and pursed lips implied he meant it.

  “You’re going to lose your biggest fan if you go to New York,” he added.

  Moisture burned the edges of Sara’s vision when she thought of losing him to New York. She’d tried to stay aloof during these past few days together but it had been the little things she’d been unable to avoid that had affected her. The way he ended up in the fetal position every morning but went right back to spooning the moment he woke had tugged at her heart. How he unconsciously touched her when they were in the same vicinity had made her feel needed. And every single laugh she’d drawn from him had been a victory.

  Now that he was scowling, she feared she’d never hear his rich laugh again. But was it reason enough to abandon what she’d been working toward for years?

  “Witches don’t get married,” she said.

  Brent gave a quick snort. “Who the hell cares?”

  “And you’re going to be expected to breed with other witches. I won’t tolerate my husband cheating on me.”

  “I don’t care what is expected of me.”

  “If you don’t behave as a regional high priest should, others will try to take the position,” Sara pointed out. Neither of them needed the reminder that someone taking his position would involve death.

  He took her hand in his, drawing his fingers softly over her palm. “We’re going to change the status quo, me and you.”

  How could they change the attitudes of hundreds of witches drastically without killing dozens? And wouldn’t it be counterproductive to kill people who were unwilling to embrace the notion of less violence?

  Brent reached his other palm up for a caress across her cheek. “I don’t want to breed with anyone but you.”

  He inhaled a ragged breath as he rapidly blinked. His eyelids drooped in a heartrending fashion when he spoke with a soft, wavering tone that matched. “I need you, princess.”

  Her heart broke for him because he truly believed he needed her. Sara gently kissed his lips in the hope of easing his hurt. “You don’t need me,” she whispered.

  “I do.” He gripped her biceps. “So many decisions I’ve made have been for you. I bribed the school secretary into putting me into your classes every year. I went to all the events I thought you’d go to. And when you moved to Pennsylvania for school, I got my job with Fintan just to have the chance to see you during the holiday breaks.”

  Sara shook her head in an attempt to make his words go away but he continued talking.

  “I think your father wanted us to be together.”

  Anger momentarily warmed her neck and face. She tugged her arms away from him as she slammed herself against the headboard.

  How dare Brent claim to know what her daddy had wanted more than she? Fintan had always maintained he wanted her to be happy. He’d known she wouldn’t be happy unless she’d achieved her goals in New York.

  Heedless to her growing ire, Brent carried on, “In the months before he died, he’d said several times that when you came back from your vacation in Florida he wanted the three of us to have a discussion. It was almost always after someone had asked him when you’d do your duty and who he’d choose.” There was a pause before Brent added, “He knew I didn’t like the idea of forced breeding. And I’d made no secret of my intention of being an active parent in any of my children’s lives. But he still put the stipulation in his will that it be me you were with.”

  Her outrage increased because she couldn’t disprove anything he’d said. Her father had made a rather large, nearly unavoidable stipulation in his last will and testament. If he’d truly known Brent’s feelings on breeding then it stood to reason he hoped to arrange some sort of relationship between his princess and the son of his soul.

  But what of Sara’s hopes and dreams? What of the inheritance she was supposed to use to realize her true potential in whatever fashion she saw fit? Why did she need all that money if she was going to be trapped in the Ohio River Valley with Brent?

  But the wording in the will… Her daddy hadn’t wil
led money to her so she could realize her dreams. The document stated it was to reach her potential. In Fintan’s eyes those would have been two vastly different goals. The wording made it clear which he thought was more important.

  A cool chill rippled up her back when she considered these realizations. More questions crowded her mind. One echoed again and again. Had her daddy planned to use Brent to keep her in Indiana? And if he had, was that reason to heed the wish now that he was gone?

  The warring emotions on Brent’s face from the drooping plea in his eyes to the angry line of his lips reminded Sara that Brent had claimed to need her, he’d asked her to marry him, and he’d said he loved her. She couldn’t throw his heartfelt admissions back in his face. But she also couldn’t agree.

  “I didn’t know all of that,” she whispered. “Daddy never talked to me about what would happen after graduation. I assumed he’d let me continue with my goals.” After a pause she said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  He stared at her for five long, uncomfortable seconds. “Do you have to think about marrying me?”

  Sara’s lips quivered as she tried not to cry. “I’m sorry, Brent. But I do.”

  Brent’s next breath was ragged. “It’s not a rejection. You haven’t destroyed me yet.”

  He pushed off the bed, fetching his pants from where he’d dropped them near the door last night. He hopped into them without looking at her and then escaped down the stairs.

  Sara waited until she was sure he was out of earshot to let go of her tears.

  It was unfair that events had happened as they had. If he hadn’t been regional high priest, Brent would have been free to go with her to New York. But if Brent hadn’t been regional high priest, she wasn’t sure Fintan would have forced her to do her duty with him.

  She’d always had a way of influencing her daddy into letting her get out of whatever she didn’t want to do. And she most certainly would have fought tooth and nail to get out of doing anything with Brent.

  Now they were in an impossible situation that was complicated by feelings neither of them should have. If only she’d hid in her bedroom that night nearly a week ago.

  If only.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brent needed more ice cubes to douse his head. The chilly water hadn’t frozen his tear ducts. He didn’t want to cry. The only emotion the regional high priest of the Ohio River Valley should show was aggression.

  He lifted himself upright for a look at his pale face in the mirror. Though his lips were little more than a grim line, red stained the tired, shadowed depths of his eyes. There was a very good reason for that.

  He’d poured his heart out to Sara. She’d basically rejected him.

  Sorrow threatened to burst from him. Brent thrust his head into the sink of icy water. The shock of cold wasn’t as strong this time. He needed colder ice. If he were numb, he wouldn’t be able to feel his insides shattering.

  Phoenix, but he loved her.

  With a quiet sputter and a painful choke, he brought his head out of the water. It was no use. Brent turned on the water in the shower. And then he gave in to the pain. Slumped against the tile in his bathroom, he allowed himself to cry like the boy he hadn’t been able to be.

  ****

  Sara stared at the ceiling in the darkness ignoring the dull ache in her chest. It was time to accept he wasn’t coming. She should be relieved she’d get a full eight hours of sleep. She wasn’t.

  Brent was avoiding her.

  He’d disappeared into his room, the office, and the bathroom the few times Sara had taken trips downstairs. When she’d sat down to watch a show on the sofa in the living room, he’d even left the house. And now that she was alone at two in the morning, she knew she’d stay that way.

  It was the first night in nearly a week she’d spend by herself. She couldn’t help but recall the reason.

  He’d proposed to her.

  She’d done the right thing. He hadn’t really meant it. They’d be miserable together. All they did was fight. And he’d realize it if he spent any time considering the truth.

  But they hadn’t fought in days. Not like they had as children. Would they fight now that Brent was unhappy with her?

  Though she was certain a lifetime with Brent would be a melancholy one for them both, she still recalled his deferential behavior toward her in the last week. They’d eaten every meal together. And he’d made no attempt to hide they were together from his friends. It was the opposite.

  Apart from clearly speaking the words, he’d done nearly everything else. He’d kissed her in their presence. He’d touched her at every opportunity. He’d included her in their discussions. And he’d listened to her counsel as he had during the situation with the children.

  Sara rolled over, shoving her face into her pillow. Should she pack her things and leave in the night? Finding her missing in the morning would devastate him. But wouldn’t it hurt him less than if they had a child together and then she left?

  The last thing Sara wanted to do was abandon her child. But there’d be no choice. Remaining in McKenna House with Brent and their child would be an intolerable situation if she refused to marry him.

  Those seemed to be her choices. She could stay and contribute to the misery of three. Or she could forsake her heritage, refuse an inheritance, and hope no one killed her for being a rogue witch.

  With options like these it was no wonder she couldn’t sleep.

  ****

  Brent glared out the window of his pickup truck. Another false lead. This one wasn’t even a witch.

  Beside him, Colin spoke a cautious question. “Do you get the feeling Vanessa is sending us on wild goose chases?”

  “Yes,” Brent snarled low in his throat.

  His temper simmered below the surface, spitting heated reactions on occasion when pressed. But it wasn’t Colin’s fault they’d followed yet another suggestion from their resident “Ena expert”. It was Brent’s.

  He’d jumped at any excuse to get out of the house. Every second he spent under the same roof as Sara was an unbearable one.

  He forced himself to speak in a steady tone. “At least we know we don’t have to worry about this Escalade.”

  The friends lapsed into silence while Brent started the truck’s engine for the trip back home.

  Colin broke the silence on the freeway a minute later. “We’ve checked out half a dozen Escalades, thirteen pickups of various makes and models, and two rare Ena witches that don’t want vengeance for their asshole father. No offense, Brent, but when are you going to stop?”

  “When the threat is neutralized.” It was an obvious answer, one he shouldn’t have had to speak.

  Nonetheless, his ginger-haired companion pressed him for a different one. “It’s been a week. No one has touched you.”

  “We’ve been vigilant.”

  “You’ve been reckless,” Colin retorted with an irked lift of his pitch. “You’ve left the house alone more times than I can count in the past two and a half days. One guard is plenty for Sara. You don’t need both me and Derrick there when you run off by yourself.”

  “She needs all the protection she can get. And with Perry assisting Grace that means I go it alone.”

  “Why does Sara need two witches on her? She proved she can handle herself.”

  Brent shot Colin a sharp look. “When did she prove that?”

  “At Grace’s,” Colin replied without backing down beneath the dark glare.

  “When she failed to secure the prisoner before trying to interrogate him? She proved herself then, you mean?”

  “What happened between you two?” Colin blurted out. He owned it by continuing with the topic despite the obvious fury building across the truck. “You were manic for days and now you’re worse than I’ve seen you in a decade.”

  Brent clenched his fingers around the steering wheel as he focused his attention on the freeway ahead. Manic. He nearly laughed at that. It was disturbingly accurate. S
ara made him deranged. Every muscle in his body was tight with need for her. But the one he was listening to was slowly killing him with toxic emotions.

  He hadn’t slept since he woke in her bed. The past two nights he’d spent in cold water more than out of it. Countless times he’d stopped himself from going to her. And countless times he’d reminded himself he was giving her time to think.

  She needed to come to him. He wouldn’t seduce her into marrying him. Phoenix, how he wanted to.

  The only answer he could think to give his friend was, “Never underestimate your foe. The Ena witches haven’t given up. They’re just regrouping.”

  Brent should follow the advice. He shouldn’t give up. He should regroup and renew his campaign.

  Sara could be happy with him. But his heart hurt too badly to try with any success. Perhaps tomorrow.

  ****

  Brent lifted his head out of the ledger containing the list of witches within the river valley. He’d thought he’d heard someone at the office door. At three in the morning, his friends would know better than to bother him. His lips pursed when he considered the other possibility. Hadn’t Vanessa learned there was only one woman for him?

  When he spotted golden hair around the door, Brent thought he’d progressed into madness. Now he was being visited by ghosts of living people?

  “Can I come in?” the ghost whispered, seemingly proving his derangement because the real Sara wouldn’t ask for permission to enter her father’s office.

  Nonetheless, he nodded his head in invitation to the ghost. He remained stiff in the tall chair before the fireplace as the figure silently opened the door. Additional notes proved her otherworldly state as she floated inside on slim, bare feet.

  The filmy white gown draped over her body was a garment he hadn’t seen in the days they’d slept together. Nor had she ever worn anything like it in the years he’d lived in McKenna House. And the way her eyes gleamed with wicked intent proved some sort of evil entity had invaded to take advantage of his fragile emotions.

  Brent’s gaze went to the curve of her breast beneath the gossamer fabric as the ghostly figure crossed the room in the dim light. Whatever creature this was had recreated the shape of Sara’s erect nipple with perfection. And the swell of her hip was precisely the correct shape of gentle rounding. Even the golden crop of hair at the V in her legs appeared accurate beneath the light fabric. His body tightened in reaction to the remembered taste of her on his tongue.